


Rest in Peace

by the_cloud_whisperer



Category: Death Note
Genre: Angst, Execution, Gen, Metaphors, Old Age, Reflection, Suicide, acceptance of death, almost typed that as meatphors, deathbed cogitation, meaty metaphors, woah that is the weirdest spelling i've ever seen of Light's dad's name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-03-30
Packaged: 2017-12-07 01:12:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_cloud_whisperer/pseuds/the_cloud_whisperer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A god cannot die, but a human pretending to be god certainly can. Two little ficlets on Light Yagami's philosophy. A little plot in the first chapter. Guaranteed required use of brain, not much sympathetic nervous system.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is set in a post-Kira victory world. I wanted to write a peaceful passing for dear Light. I like his anime death better, where he dies much more gracefully than in the manga. It seems unrealistic to hope that he could come to terms with his mortality, but this is my attempt.

"You know," Ryuk huffed, "if you're so keen on equality for all, you should just kill everyone. Isn't there some saying where everyone is equal in death?"

Light Yagami sat in the waiting room, immobile in the threadbare upholstery. An unruly spring worried at the arthritic small of his back, but he paid it no mind. Hunched over, untended grey crown snowing at the roots, he looked almost the doppelganger of his long-dead enemy. Of course, he would not admit this to you if you'd asked him. He probably wouldn't say anything even if you'd done everything short of bellowing in his ear, as Ryuk was on the verge of attempting. And no, Light was not  _that_ hard of hearing.

_The waiting room is not equal for all_ , Light thought, staring but not seeing the piece of paper in his hands. It fluttered slightly in the airless room.

* * *

"I never championed equality, Ryuk," Light said, rearranging his pillows back home. The foam mattress and plush comforter were much easier on his bones.

His  _rotten_ bones, as he might have said in his youth.

"I only ever wanted justice. Equality implies that people from all points on the moral spectrum receive the same treatment. Justice gives each man his due. And I suppose this is mine."

"Eh?" Ryuk snorted. "Have you had your coffee this morning? I'm afraid you're not very lucid at the moment."

Light ignored the Shinigami in favor of pulling the notebook out of his pillowcase. It needed no safer hiding place now, because people knew he was justice.

Justice served its due onto itself as well. His hand was shakier, his letters a little less distinct, but it was just like years gone by.

Ryuk was on an apple reconnaissance mission in the kitchen when he heard the words. He hastened back to find the note on the ground by the bed.

"I guess he was right," Ryuk said aloud. There was no longer any need to whisper.

_Light Yagami. Falls into a deep, dreamless sleep after surrendering ownership of the note and never wakes up._


	2. Portrait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Light has lost, L has not won, and the world never even knew of the battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Justice is kind of an overdone theme in this fandom, like really hard, burnt flaky eggs or a steak that was supposed to be juicy but got overcooked. I tried my best though. Writing skills not indicative of culinary prowess. This chapter is not related to the previous one.

It was always about me. It was never about justice, really, because justice always prevails, and I have not. No one knows better than you.

When I was a very young child, I believed in it, because its face belonged to my father. My family wasn't religious, but my father was God enough for me. He could solve any case, his men obeyed him without question, he told me stories of his work and passion for fighting crime. I didn't have a teddy bear or a security blanket; knowing that a greater being watched over me helped me sleep at night.

Time marched on, and my horizons broadened. School was my new world, the media was my new nightmare, and reality and fantasy both subsumed the image of justice behind my eyes. What could my father do? He was one man against a host of black souls, a single guttering candle hovering in an airless expanse. More importantly, what could I do? I was supposed to be a carbon copy of my father. Every night, when I listened with baited breath, sitting atop my father's knee, he would end his stories with a fond smile and this parting remark: "That's how we caught the criminal, Light, and someday you'll do the same."

He kept that up until I was eight, when one night, I said, "Otousan, I don't want to do the same. I want to do more, and better."

He looked at me for a moment, and from the way his eyes wouldn't meet mine, I knew he didn't want this to happen. Not for fear of being upstaged or put away if I succeeded him too early; it was just that… the world couldn't do with more and better. People always wanted more and better, and at some point, it could no longer be delivered to them.

I wanted to do just that, and after that night, though my unsettled father abandoned his regular bedtime stories, I cradled the thought into sleep, the thought of me being the deliverer, the modern messiah. I held it close, whispered to it in the silence of the night, but… not for long.

What could I do? Certainly I could think faster, smile prettier,  _be_ better than anyone else, but I worried that nothing I did would ever be enough. I could pass more tests, win more tennis matches, solve more cases, enforce more laws, but I would never be justice, because justice was perfect, infallible, and I was not, until one day…

The day the notebook fell from the sky was the day I filled justice's blank face with my own features. To be sure, not much changed: I erased some lines from my father's dusty face and shot the hair and eyes with dusky hazel. The color was lighter, you see, and you smile now because of the pun in your native language, but don't laugh. At the time, I truly thought it was fate who framed my portrait and not linguistics. The light was shining through me onto a brighter world. And it was the new beginning, and there was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

I suppose you're not religious either, but you must know enough of the Bible to recognize how I'm equating them all: justice, myself, God, the Death Note… are you sickened?

No, L, you knew me from the start; you knew that Kira was a child playing God. And as that child sits here now in the execution chamber, waiting for Death's premature carriage, you know now that all God ever had was his vanity. You can cut the video after these last words, L: justice… what's that?


End file.
